A Plain Malice: An Appleseed Creek Mystery (Appleseed Creek Mystery Series Book 4)

by Amanda Flower

  Melinda and I carried our sandwiches back to the Gertie, who somehow found an empty Adirondack chair in front of a florist shop. She perched on the end of it.

  “How’d you find an empty chair, Gertie?” I asked.

  She tucked her pocketbook beside her. “I told the young man sitting here I was old enough to be his great-great grandmother and would likely die if I didn’t have a place to sit. Never underestimate the power of guilt.” She pointed a wrinkled finger down the street. “A fresh squeezed lemonade would hit the spot with these sandwiches.”

  I handed Gertie her sandwich. “I’ll get them.”

  “No, no. I’ll do it,” Melinda said. “You visit with Gertie.”

  Before I could protest, she said, “You are doing me a favor by entertaining her.”

  “Melinda was telling me how she started working for you.”

  “I met her at our senior citizen center in Tupelo. She was a volunteer there, and I took a shine to her right away. She has a calm and steady presence. It must have been from all those years of teaching eighth graders how to dissect frogs.”

  “Dissect frogs? She was a science teacher?” I asked.

  Gertie nodded.

  “You’ve been to so many places. How did you pick this trip to Amish Country?” I took a bite of my sandwich.

  “It was last minute. We didn’t even make the final decision until a week before we were set to leave.” She threw a slice of pepper on the grass beside her.

  “Do you usually travel on the spur of the moment like that?”

  “No, but Melinda was so enthusiastic when she heard about the trip, I thought why not.” She tossed another pepper. “She can be a bit of downer, so to see her excited about something made me excited about it too. People shouldn’t go through life like it’s a chore. It’s an adventure and should be treated as such.” A third pepper hit the grass. “Plus, I have never been to Amish Country, so why not?”

  “Umm, Gertie, why are you throwing all your peppers on the grass.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I like them for flavoring, but they are too slimy to eat.”

  I sat next to her. “Does your family ever want to go on these trips with you?”

  She took a bit of her sandwich and thought for a minute. “I have one son still living, but he’s in a nursing home in Utah. Poor boy, he took after this father as far as health goes, not me. Everyone else has gone home to be with the Lord. I suppose you could say Melinda is the only family I have. I’m her only family too. She never married and doesn’t claim any other relatives.”

  Melinda returned with our lemonade. She handed the first plastic cup to me. “This one is for you, Chloe.” She handed the next cup to Gertie. “And here is yours.”

  “Thank you, Melinda. I was just telling Chloe how we came on this trip.”

  Melinda’s mouth turned down.

  Gertie set her lemonade cup on the grass and shoved her half-eaten Italian sausage at me. “I know just the thing that will go with this lemonade.”

  Uh-huh.

  She stuck her hand in her massive patchwork purse and removed a plastic sandwich bag. Inside was a twisted gray strip of what I assumed was fish. It resembled a molted snakeskin.

  Gertie pulled the fish strip and held it out to me. “My fish jerky. It’s about time you tried it.”

  Reluctantly, I took it. I could feel both she and Melinda watching me.

  “Go on, now,” Gertie urged.

  I took a tiny bite. It tasted like crunchy salt rock which had been scrapped up from the bottom of the Mississippi.

  Gertie watched me intently. “Good, ain’t it?”

  “Mmmmm.” I grabbed my lemonade and took a huge gulp.

  The centurion rubbed her hands together. “I knew you would like it.”

  I willed my gag reflex to remain calm. “Gertie, I think I will save the rest for later.”

  “If that’s what you want to do. You got a strip of largemouth bass there. It stays fresh a long time.” She handed me the sandwich bag. “Catfish is my favorite, but it doesn’t keep as well because it’s a fatty fish.”

  I tucked the fish jerky into my purse and chugged more lemonade.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  By the time we reached the Dutch Inn in Appleseed Creek later that afternoon, my stomach was rolling. I was happy everyone was in a light stupor from too much food and too much information, so no one complained when I said I had no more Amish lessons to share until dinner that evening. The sound of light snoring floated from the back of the bus.

  All I wanted to do was crawl to my room and lay down on the bed. A pounding headache throbbed behind my forehead. I placed a hand to my temple. It came away damp. That Italian sausage was a very, very bad idea. Or was it the fish jerky? If I made it back to Knox County alive, I promised myself I would never touch either ever again.

  I felt the bus shutter to a halt, and heard the sound of tinny voices next to me in the aisle.

  Hudson held onto the railing in front of my seat. “All right. Time for you to get out too.”

  He had to be kidding. Moving seemed impossible.

  “Get out, kid. My number one rule is no hurling on the bus.”

  Slowly, I opened my eyes and his face blurred. With all the energy I could muster, I gathered my bag struggled to my feet. Bed. Get in the inn and go to bed.

  “There’s some guy out here waiting for you,” Hudson said. His voice was distant too.

  Timothy. Timothy would take care of me. Thinking of him brought tears to my eyes.

  Somehow, I stumbled to the bus door. The steps looked like a mile down. I teetered, and a hand reached for mine and helped me down. I stared at it. It was a man’s hand, but it didn’t belong to Timothy. In slow motion, I turned my head. Curt. What was he doing there? He helped me down to the blacktop. “Red,” was all he said.

  “Pull her away from the bus,” Hudson barked.

  I felt Curt lead me to grass lawn beside the driveway. Hudson cranked over the engine, and the bus pulled out of the driveway. Where was he going? Should I follow him? I could no more follow him than I could fly.

  “Red?” Curt’s voice dipped with concern. “Are you okay?”

  I blinked a blurry goatee-covered face. “No.”

  “I need to talk to you.” His tone was urgent, pleading.

  “Another time. I can’t talk to you right now, Curt.”

  How did he know I was here? Has he been watching me again? I thought he changed. My thoughts hit me in a muddled string. I needed to lie down now.

  “It can’t wait. It’s already waited long enough.” His father’s dog tags hung from his neck.

  I closed my eyes for a moment. Mistake. It only seemed to make the earth tilt more. “Is it about the prison ministry? I already told you it’s a good idea. I haven’t had time to work on the website yet.”

  “It’s not about that.” He grasped my upper arms. I didn’t know if he did that to keep me upright or hold me in place.

  “Whatever it is can we do this another time? Please. I’m not feeling well. I think I might be car sick or—”

  His grip tightened on my upper arms. “I just need five minutes. Let’s go to the garden. I think I need to sit down. There’s a bench there.”

  “Fine.” Arguing with him to leave me alone would just prolong my agony. “But please hurry. I don’t feel well.”

  He guided me into the garden. There was a white iron wrought backless bench in the middle of a bed of red tulips. Curt lowered me on the bench. Sitting was wonderful. I would never discredit the greatness of sitting again. He sat beside me. The bench was so small our legs pressed up against each other. I didn’t care I was way beyond caring about my personal space.

  Curt turned my body to face him. “Chloe, look at me.”

  I blinked.

  “I love you, Chloe,” he blurted out.

  Brock was right? This wasn’t happening. This could not be happening. He called me Chloe. He never calls me Chloe.

 
; “No, you don’t,” I whispered.

  He jerked his head back and even through my blurred vision I could see a small piece of the angry Curt I remembered from months ago.

  Curt grabbed my elbow. “I know what I just said must be shock. I was surprised by it myself. My counselor said if I had to tell someone something that was bothering me, I needed to say it. Bottling it up inside leads to anger.”

  I wished his counselor hadn’t done that. More than anything I wished I could lie down on top of the flowers. He took my hand. “Chloe, I love you.” He paused. “I’ve loved you for a while now, longer than I have even known.”

  The headache intensified. “Curt, you know Timothy and I are dating.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched or at least I thought it did it was hard to tell as my vision was still unreliable. “I know, but you could date me too. And between the two of us, you could decide who suits you better.”

  That wasn’t going to happen. Ever. I already knew who suited me better. I didn’t want to hurt Curt’s feelings more, but I had to put a stop to this.

  “You’re the only girl for me,” he whispered and took my face into his hands.

  I tried to pull away. “I can’t—”

  He kissed me. His goatee felt coarse against my skin, and my insides revolted. I jerked my head away from him, bent over, and threw up on the tulips.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Gentle fingers held my hair back away from my face as I expelled a series of dry heaves into Jane’s beautiful garden. As the last heave shook my body, a water bottle was thrust into my hand. “Here, drink this. It will help. You might want to swish it around in your mouth to get the bad taste out. I’ve seen a lot of foul stuff, Red, but this might be the winner.”

  Red? The name hit me like a tennis racket to the side of the head. I jerked my head up so quickly it connected with Curt’s chin. “Ouch!” we both cried out.

  The head knock forced me to look down. Big mistake. Jane’s flowers weren’t so pretty anymore. Ugh. I had to look away.

  I tried to scramble to stand and Curt grabbed me by the waist to steady me.

  “What are you doing to her?” Timothy’s voice was razor sharp. “Get away from her.”

  I felt Curt jerk away from me. Still too weak to stand on my own, I began to falter. Timothy caught me as I was halfway to the ground.

  “What did you do to her?” His question came out in a snarl and sounded nothing like Timothy.

  I shivered. “Timothy, Curt hasn’t done anything wrong. I was sick, and he helped me.” Nausea washed over me again. “I think I might be sick again.” I doubled over. This time it was Timothy who held my hair.

  Vaguely, after my last bout of a turned stomach, I felt Timothy pick me up and carry me to his truck. He laid me across the bench seat and placed my head on his lap. At some point, I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew I was aware of was an antiseptic smell assaulting my nostrils.

  “Morning, Sunshine.”

  My eyes opened slowly fighting against the hospital room’s glaring fluorescent lighting.

  “There you are.” Chief Rose’s royal blue-lined brown eyes and short poodle curls seemed even more out place under her police department cap than normal. “Have a nice nap?”

  “Terrific.” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  A hand offered me a small plastic cup of water. “Here, drink this.” It was the exact phrase Curt used in the garden, but it was Timothy who handed me the water this time.

  I accepted the cup and took two small sips. It made my stomach clench, but it was enough to satisfy my dry mouth for the time being.

  Chief Rose sat on the edge of my bed. “Humphrey, we have to talk about your latest escapade.”

  “There will be time for that, Greta.” Timothy’s voice was firm. “The nurse said Chloe needs to rest.”

  “She looks perfectly fine to me,” Chief Rose argued.

  Timothy set the water cup on a side table. “What are you a doctor now?”

  “Troyer, don’t take your protective attitude out of me.”

  “You caused this. It was your idea for her to get on the bus with those people,” he said.

  “I didn’t hear her say ‘no.’”

  “Like you would let her. You just steamrolled her into doing whatever you want.”

  I lifted my hand from my chest. “Hello, I’m right here, and I know I look half-dead, but I am very much alive and can hear you.” I blinked in confusion. “How did Chief Rose cause me being sick? She wasn’t the one who gave me that Italian sausage. I have food poisoning.”

  The chief turned her head toward me. “It wasn’t food poisoning.”

  “What?” My mouth was dry again. I feared it may become a permanent condition. “Can I have a little more water?”

  Timothy was at my side in an instant, forcing Chief Rose to step away. He held the paper cup for me while I drank.

  When I was done, I waved him away. “What do you mean this wasn’t food poisoning?”

  The chief and Timothy shared a look.

  “What’s going on?” I tried to push myself up in the bed but failed miserably.

  The room door swung in. “How is our patient feeling? Awake, I see. Chloe, we have to stop meeting like this,” the dark-haired doctor said. His hospital ID read, “Dr. Bryant,” and I’d recognized him from my other stays in the hospital since moving to Appleseed Creek.

  “Since we hadn’t seen you in a few months, we figured that you stayed out of trouble.” He held the breast flaps of his lab coat. “But now here you are. You couldn’t stand to be away from us too long.”

  I wanted him to leave. I wanted to hear what Timothy and Chief Rose had to say. “I didn’t plan to come back.”

  “Most don’t.” He chuckled.

  “Timothy, please tell me what you and Chief Rose meant before the doctor arrived,” I said.

  Timothy pursed his lips as if considering his words. Chief Rose, who was never as subtle, cut to the chase. “Someone tried to poison you.”

  “Poison me,” I murmured.

  She nodded.

  “The chief’s right. You were in bad shape there for a bit,” the good doctor added. “We won’t know for sure until we get the lab results back, but I think someone fed you narcissus.”

  “Narcissus,” I whispered. “Isn’t that a character in Greek mythology who fell in love with his reflection and died?”

  Dr. Bryant picked up an iPad from a rolling medical cart in one corner of the room and consulted it. “It’s also a flower. More commonly called a daffodil.”

  “A daffodil,” I whispered. Somehow knowing it was my favorite flower that nearly killed me made it worse. My eyes found Timothy’s. His expression was apologetic as if he was somehow responsible for this. He knew what my favorite flower was.

  “I see a case like this a couple of times every spring. There was a little boy in here last week who ate a whole plant.”

  I tried to lift my head. The room swerved. That was a mistake. “Was the little boy okay?”

  “He was after we pumped his stomach and a two-day hospital stay.” He scrolled down his iPad again. “Even though he ate the plant, it was lucky he didn’t get any of the bulb. That’s where a majority of alkaloid poison is. Because of the severity of your illness, I suspect you ingested a bit of a narcissus bulb, it’s not toxic enough to kill you but will definitely enough to make you wish you were dead.”

  “Do you think I ate it today? Right before I got sick?” I willed myself not to think about the Italian sausage. If I threw up again, Dr. Bryant would never let me out of the hospital.

  “Narcissus doesn’t work that fast. You could have been given it any time in the last few days. It just depends how much you were given and how susceptible you are to know the time of reaction. I suspect it was in the last thirty-six to forty-eight hours because of your small size. In a large man it would take much longer for a reaction.”

  Chief Rose rocked back on her heel
s. “I sent Nottingham over to the Dutch Inn to collect a sample of your lunch you left behind in the garden.”

  Ugh. Could the floor open up and swallow me now?

  “Don’t worry. He may look like a kid, but he’s an old hand where puke is concerned. Who do you think collects all those drunk Harshberger students on Thursday nights and carts them back to campus?”

  Seriously, floor open up already. I am ready to go.

  Dr. Bryant closed the cover over his iPad. “You are going to be fine, but I would like to keep you here overnight for observation.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to spend the night in the hospital. I feel fine now. A little weak, but that’s to be expected after being that sick. I’ll feel a little better after I eat.” Even the mention of food made my stomach roll. I tried my best not to make a face as I felt like I rode Tilt-a-whirl on the deck of a sailboat.

  He pursed his lips. “You’re vitals and coloring are back to normal. You aren’t in any danger, so I’ll let you go.”

  “Maybe you should stay to be sure,” Timothy said. “One night in the hospital won’t be so bad.”

  “I will be fine.”

  “Okay, I’ll start the paperwork,” the good doctor said. “A nurse will be back within the hour with your discharge papers.” He pointed the corner of his iPad in my direction. “Don’t make me regret my decision, Chloe, and I don’t want to see you around here again.”

  “I don’t want to see you either,” I said with a smile.

  He winked at me and left the room.

  “Okay, Humphrey, start at the beginning. I want to know everything you did the last two days, so we can figure out when you might have been fed daffodil and by whom.”

  I started talking and shared everything I could remember from last couple of days.

  “I need to know what you ate too.”

  “There was the fish jerky.”

  Her pen froze in midair. “Say what?”